Life is make believe, fantasy given form

Diana Peach, from Myths of the Mirror, is hosting a monthly speculative fiction writing challenge on her blog. She even said we could write poetry!! At the beginning of the month, she gives us an image to base our story or poetry on. That’s it. Super simple and lots of fun!

I even incorporated the words from my Weekly Poetry challenge, using synonyms only. I used “secretive” for mystery, and “beguiling” for attract. There are many ways to incorporate your love of writing poetry into your other writing. Have FUN! (Please do not link your stories or poetry to this post. Go to the links above and follow the instructions). ❤

Thesea godPoseidon—secretitveand the most beguilingdeity found on earth,rose from the bright turquoise seasunaware that climate change hadlaid waste the balmy shores he adoredas frigid gales transformed him into stone.

19 tired but determined souls weightily trudged along the barren land. A cold wind that cut like a knife blew right into their faces. Faces that were protected by fibre glass helmets that released a steady flow of Oxygen via ultralight cylinders ensconced within even lighter back packs. The howling wind whistled away like troubled wolves predicting a pattern of doom. The perfectly circular orb that was the moon shone in milky white splendor.

Venky’s concentration however was on the magnificently regal and natural formation of mountain made of ice. The indentations and cutting edges remarkably represented the image of a Socratic elder squatting on the ground and intently examining a patch of land with what seemed like an exquisitely sculpted arm. This jaw dropping spectacle reminded Venky of the mythical Gandalf. Gandalf, J.R.R. Tolkien’s immortal creation who in the blink of an eye could transform…

For Beauty

For all the destruction
The stains of ruin
Watermarks where rain
Rots through faith
For all the desecration of children
Corruption, extinction, and floating garbage
The bombs and bones and torn and aching flesh
For all the wretched jabber of apathy, short memories
Spittle of hatred, tears of living tragedies
Void of tomorrows

There persists
In the shy dreams of the heart
A spark of yearning
For beauty

We are a party of only 19 as we approach the summit, the elements having swallowed up five of our number- and necessity, has devoured yet another. To speculate as to whether the last of those deaths was justified, is moot. What is done is done. We have arrived at Dragonlord Mountain.

********

Prisoners Testimony

We had known for quite some time that our situation was precarious at best. As a tribe we had lost our ability to procreate some years hence, the result of hormone laden aquifers, following the runoff of the Bastion Uprising.

Despite this grievous bane, we continued to live in health and prosperity. As was to be expected, however, our populace continued…

Gnuri, the ice giant was born in a galaxy on the other side of the universe. His form was created by the unknowable and contained enough material to birth entire new galaxies.

Filled with subatomic particles that were programmed to morph into structures, Gnuri was dispatched to what we now know as the Milky Way.

One particular paradox was that Gnuri could not see himself. While the particles he contained created external structures on auto pilot, he could not see the wondrous Milky Way, nebula nor planets that formed.

It was with this realization that his new form was born. The form of man. At that time there were only exoplanets, which meant that the form of man preceded the Milky Way’s Sun. However, man would need the Sun to generate…

Though his whisper was barely audible in the frigid air, the man just ahead stopped and looked back. An icicle-crusted cloth obscured most of his face, yet he still managed to scowl. “I swear,” he said, his speech muffled, “If ye dunnae stop, ye’ll shortly be asking yer ANCESTORS about The Swamp of Misery!” He faced forward again and continued walking.

Alvin hadn’t even the breath to sigh. Given that, he doubted the other man’s threat had much clout behind it. They were all worn out, cold, and on edge. They’d been at this quest for the longest fortnight of any man’s life: rising in the dark, stopping after the next night’s dark, and sleeping round a sorry excuse for a campfire. And the weather was always, always cold.